


A Wilderness Untold

by sealdog



Category: Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, casual nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 08:10:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6846487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sealdog/pseuds/sealdog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I still can’t believe we missed an entire secret base the last time we were here,” Jill mutters, shifting irritably in her shackles from where she’s chained across the dungeon.</p><p>“It <i>was</i> pretty well-hidden,” Chris offers, trying to be comforting.</p><p>“You said you fell through a hole and into their meeting room!” Jill hisses, glare shifting from the shackles to Chris.</p><p>“…Except for that.” Chris amends.</p><p>---</p><p>Pre-RE S.T.A.R.S. team shenanigans. Chris, Jill, and Wesker go on what was supposed to be a routine mission. Shit goes down, there's a sewer, a lake, and way too much casual nudity for Chris' bi heart.</p><p>Now with extra porny ending \o/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kashuan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kashuan/gifts).



> @kashuan asked for pregame chris/wesker/jill and hair washing, and what was supposed to be a short prompt became 7k words of shenanigans :^) to make up for it being one month late?? ilu bb plz dont kill me
> 
> Disclaimer: all camping/wilderness survival/gun knowledge came from google, and a lot of artistic license ha ha
> 
> unbeta-ed, lmk if u find typos and shit

♖: Having their hair washed by the other, pregame chris/wesker/jill 

It was supposed to be a normal, easy mission. Head up to the northwest forests of the Arklay Mountains to do a routine sweep, make sure there was no illegal or suspicious activity going on, spend the next few days camping and enjoying the sights while waiting for the chopper to return, get home from the nice vacation, bask in the envy of your teammates who were stuck in the office the entire time. Barry, Jill, and Brad had gone up the last time and come back all smug and relaxed. Brad had even got a bit of a tan, which he’d been disgustingly smug about until Joseph casually mentioned that Angela from the bookshop two streets down had a thing for pale-skinned guys. Then Brad had been less smug, but still tanned.

So this time, when Wesker came out of his office into the common area to say that they were prepping for another sweep and looking for volunteers, Chris’ hand went up so fast that he nearly dislocated it. The tiny, amused quirk of Wesker’s lips as he’d announced that he would be going along with Jill and Chris had made it worth it though. Also the fact that he’d be heading up with Jill and Wesker. After all, he’d be spending quality time with his favorite captain and favorite teammate, camping and having a chill time in the springtime forests…man, those four days were gonna be _awesome_.

Boy was he wrong.

First there was a kerfuffle with the designated helicopter pilot calling in two hours after their meeting time to say she was sick. So they called Brad as backup, but the map and coordinates that the sick pilot sent them turned out to be for the wrong mission. Then Jill pointed out that she and Brad had been on the last mission, and could probably find their way back by memory, and they were far enough behind schedule that Wesker actually agreed to the half-assed plan, which was how what was supposed to be a 45 minute flight ended up being an hour and a half of listening to Brad and Jill bicker over whether or not they were going the right way.

When Brad finally dropped them off – miraculously at the right site, despite his and Jilll’s seeming inability to agree on the right path – it was nowhere near evening, but already the light in the clearing was dipping into twilight. Chris glanced up, at the ever-present shadow of the Arklay Mountains to the west, and wondered if it was a mountain thing.

“We’ll have approximately two more hours of twilight.” The captain’s voice was barely audible over the _thwupthwupthwup_ of Brad’s departing chopper. “Let’s split up, we’ll cover what we can towards north, then return here to set up camp in an hour.”

Chris headed off in the direction he was pointed towards, half his attention on his surroundings, and the other half trying to calculate if they’d still be able to finish the mission early so he could get in quality relaxation time. During the flight over, Brad had pointed out a stream not far off from the clearing that he swore was really good for fishing. It’s not like Chris has ever actually gone fishing before, but it would be fun to just chill there, he thinks. 

Okay, so maybe he should have been paying closer attention to his surroundings, but given that the whole reason he was distracted in the first place was because the mission had started out so terribly, he figures that the whole situation they’re in right now is only about….60% his fault. Maybe 75%.

“I still can’t believe we missed an entire secret base the last time we were here,” Jill mutters, shifting irritably in her shackles from where she’s chained across the dungeon.

“It _was_ pretty well-hidden,” Chris offers, trying to be comforting.

“You said you fell through a hole and into their meeting room!” Jill hisses, glare shifting from the shackles to Chris.

“…Except for that.” Chris amends.

It’s true though, the place is mostly underground, and the only reason he’d found it was because he’d been leaning on a tree to retie the laces of his boots. The tree had turned out to be a switch, the forest-floor a trapdoor, and, well, here they were. Trapped in a dungeon by a bunch of cultists in robes and weird masks, possibly being prepared for some kind of ritual sacrifice, going by the ominous chanting outside.

Two meters away, Wesker sits calmly with his shackled hands in his lap, sunglasses impenetrable in the dark of the dungeon. He’s not making any attempts to fiddle with the lock on his restraints, and in fact seems to be perfectly comfortable sitting cross-legged on the cold, damp floor and watching Chris and Jill bicker.

“Captain, how did you get caught anyway?” Chris asks, even as he’s scooting his way over so he can help Jill pull her cuffs into a better position to pick. “Jill wasn’t too far off, but you were on the other side, right?”

Wesker tilts his head as if considering Chris’ question. “I radioed Jill when neither of you made it back to the starting point,” he answers, after a long pause. He waits till Jill’s managed to get her cuffs off before he continues, “You might want to hurry. I hear someone coming.”

With Jill’s hands now free, it doesn’t take long for her to free all three of them from their restraints. Chris bends down to pick his discarded handcuffs up, weighing them in his hands. They’re heavy enough to use as weapons, at least until they get their equipment back, so he wraps them around one forearm, with enough length left over to swing around. Next to him, Jill’s cracking her neck and setting her cap on more firmly, waiting for Wesker’s cue.

Wesker nods once from where he’s standing next to the door, and they prepare themselves. When the door opens, the cultist on the other side barely has time to open his mouth before Jill’s boot crashes into his throat, and then Chris is there, wrapping the chain of his shackles around the cultist’s neck.

When he feels the cultist’s resistance give out, he lets go and steps back, breathing a little heavily. Further down the corridor, Wesker is slamming his boot down into another cultist’s neck, while behind him, Jill rifles through the last cultist’s pockets. She tosses a knife over to Chris, and takes one for herself. Wesker liberates a knife of his own from his cultist, and somewhat better armed, they head down the corridor together, Chris on point and Wesker bringing up the rear.

Once they’ve cleared out the dungeon level, which is thankfully free of any other prisoners, they debate between cleaning out the rest of the base, and escaping so they can return with reinforcements. Chris and Jill argue that the cultists don’t seem that well-armed or well-trained at all, and that since the cultists already know they’re here, they’re not going to have any element of surprise. Wesker seems reluctant, which is odd, but Chris chalks it up to them not having proper weapons.

Then they round the corner, and find all their equipment jumbled messily onto a table, and Chris can’t really see to confirm, but he’s pretty sure Wesker rolls his eyes as he gives in and agrees to let them clear the place out.

They split up, Jill taking the upper basement and Chris the lower, while Wesker heads up to the tower that’s apparently the only part of the base that’s above ground.

The basement Chris heads to is gloomily creepy and full of cultists who are, to Chris’ dismay, actually better armed and trained than their counterparts in the dungeon. Some of them even look like professional mercenaries, and Chris wonders what kind of cultists these people _are_. Still, between the mercenaries and cultists and the mildly alarming rumbling in the distance that seems to be growing closer, Chris doesn’t really have time to think it over.

He’s just finished clearing out the last room and is heading back to the staircase when Jill comes running down, cap slightly askew and with streaks of gore across her arms and face.

“We gotta go, c’mon!” She turns without waiting for his response, and sprints back up. Chris follows instinctively. He has the feeling it’s got something to do with the rumbling, which has only intensified, and which has gotten so strong that the walls are visibly shaking. It’s all very alarming, and he sincerely hopes that Jill knows where she’s going.

“Where’s Wesker?” Chris shouts as he keeps pace with Jill, his voice barely audible even to himself over the sounds of things falling down and the place shaking itself apart.

“Ahead! He said he found an exit,” Jill shouts back, and grabs Chris’ hand to pull him round a corner just as the floor he’d been standing on cracks and begins to crumble.

Chris huffs out his thanks, and keeps sprinting on after Jill, following her through another corridor, and past a disturbing pile of bodies, until they nearly collide headfirst with Wesker.

“This way,” Wesker takes over the lead, and they sprint through another set of corridors and down a staircase Chris hadn’t noticed before.

“Why are we headed down?” Jill asks breathlessly. Chris grabs her arm and catches her just as she nearly trips over a pile of debris that crashes in from the caving ceiling. “Shouldn’t we be going up?”

“Sewers.” Wesker says shortly, before kicking a door down and turning to usher them in.

Chris groans, partly because all the running is beginning to leave him winded, but mostly because _sewers_. Jill doesn’t seem too enamored of the idea either, going by the way she’s sighing as she ties her hair up into a bun, presumably to reduce the amount of sewer muck that would get into it.

“Sorry.” Wesker’s voice is completely unapologetic as he strides over to open up a hatch. “Come on.”

“Ladies first,” Chris says as he and Jill near the hatch. He gestures for Jill to go ahead, grinning. He’s expecting the scowl and the slap to his chest from her, but not the push to his back from Wesker that sends him tumbling butt over head into the hatch, yelling as he goes.

Behind him, he hears Jill laughing before she jumps in after him to land on her feet with a splash. Chris scowls up at her from where he’s landed on his butt, thankfully not actually _in_ the sewer water running through the tunnel. He turns his glare to Wesker as he joins them, landing next to Jill in a crouch.

At least Wesker has the grace to not laugh openly at Chris like Jill is, and he even lends Chris a hand up, which Chris takes begrudgingly, and together, they head down the tunnel. Wesker leads them through the relatively straightforward tunnel, and they keep going, at a slower pace than before because the tunnel seems to be heading downwards, further and further away from the rumbling above.

That is, until they reach a dead-end. Sort of.

“Well.” Jill says, staring down at where the path falls away into emptiness, the sewer’s waters rushing over the side like the brownest, smelliest, most un-scenic waterfall ever.

“Do we even know if it leads out?” Chris asks, crouching so he can peer further over the edge. “We’ve been going down all this while, what if it leads us to the center of the earth or something?” He’s half joking, half not, because that would actually be kinda cool, but they’re definitely not equipped for a mission like that.

“It’ll bring us up into Victory Lake.” Wesker holsters his gun, and starts checking his equipment.

Resigned, Chris follows his lead. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m really hoping we land in the gross water and not like, on a rock or anything,” he says, bending to strap his thigh holster more firmly into place.

Beside him, Jill sighs. “Never thought I’d be glad for sewer water,” she says wistfully. When Chris looks over, he’s just in time to catch her taking a deep breath before she literally swan dives over the edge because she’s a _total showoff_.

Scowling, Chris bends over the edge, and calls out after her. “You can’t see me, but I’m holding up a placard that says 3 out of 10!”

When he straightens back up, Wesker’s face is studiously turned away. Embarrassed, Chris clears his throat, and finishes tightening the strap of his thigh holster.

“See you on the other side, captain!” He tosses a salute at Wesker before taking a running leap off and into the void.

Before jumping off, he’d been really determined to keep his mouth shut, so none of the sewer water could get in. Apparently, nobody had told his body the news, because when he hits the rush of water, his mouth instinctively opens, and he gags at the sour, slimy taste of the water. About the only thing the water has going for it is that it’s _cold_ , which means he’s too busy flinching with his entire body at the shock of cold to actually _taste_ the grossness too much.

It’s hard to keep straight of things when he can’t even tell what’s up, or what’s down, and he’s struck by an irrational fear that there’s going to be some kind of leviathan beast in the water just waiting to snap his legs off, so between the panic and the weight of the water pressing on him, pulling him in one direction and then the other, it feels like an eternity has passed before the pressure seems to ease up, and he’s bursting out into open air.

Gasping, Chris shakes his head, spluttering to try and get the sewer taste out of his mouth. He looks around, noting absently that the water is no longer the muddy, congealed brown of the sewers, but a somewhat murky greenish brown. They’re in the lake, from the looks of it, although not any part of the lake Chris is familiar with. At least the trees on the distant shores look familiar, which means they’re in the right lake.

“Chris! Over here,” Jill calls out from somewhere behind him. Turning, Chris sees her clinging to a log and slowly making her way to shore. He paddles his way over, and grabs the other end of the log.

“Where’s the captain?” He asks, looking around as they slowly kick their way towards the approaching shoreline. “Thought he was right behind me.”

Jill shrugs, although by the way her teeth are chattering, it could’ve just been a shiver.

They kick in place for a bit, looking around for Wesker. The prolonged twilight seems to be reaching its end, and the purple and orange streaks in the sky make for really bad lighting. It takes a while, but then Jill spots a familiar pair of sunglasses floating not far off, and as they kick their way over, Wesker pops up beside his glasses, usually neat hair rather disarrayed.

As expected, the first thing he does is grab at his sunglasses. He puts them back on, looks around for Jill and Chris, and heads over when he spots them. Chris manfully doesn’t say anything about Wesker’s hair, which is hilariously splayed out over his forehead, the blonde strands flat from the water.

“Redfield. Valentine.” Wesker inclines his head at them with all his usual dignity, and grabs the middle part of the log.

“Captain,” they reply together automatically.

“Shore’s that way,” Jill points out with a jerk of her head, and they make their way over, paddling somewhat awkwardly.

It doesn’t take long till the ground rises up beneath their feet and they’re dragging themselves out of the water. The first thing they do is to unceremoniously strip off, wringing their clothes out and checking their equipment to see if anything got damaged.

Fortunately, their guns don’t look to have taken any damage; none that a good thorough cleaning wouldn’t fix anyway. _Un_ fortunately, Chris’ pack didn’t make the trip unscathed, and since he was carrying the radio, they’re left without any way to contact Brad or Joseph or anybody at all. Also, the chocolate energy bars he’d been saving are now lost to the depths of the lake, which is quite possibly the biggest tragedy of the day.

They make a pathetic sight, three S.T.A.R.S. agents in their underwear shivering on the shore with their equipment spread out to dry, and Chris mentally thanks his lucky stars that he’d at least worn one of his nicer briefs. God it would’ve been so embarrassing if he’d worn his favourite pair, which were kinda holey and faded practically to white from the original blue, but which were _really comfortable_ , in his defense.

Trying to be as subtle as he can, he sneaks a glance over to Wesker, aaaand yup, of _course_ the captain would be wearing really nice looking underwear, some kind of tight black boxer-briefs that somehow look professional and badass and really, really expensive. God. At least Jill’s polka-dotted underwear and basic black sports bra looks like she bought them from the same value store Chris got his from.

Trying to keep his thoughts off his teammate’s and captain’s underwear – and not at all helped by the way Wesker is crouching down to examine their packs, Chris looks around for something to do, rubbing at his arms to keep himself warm. Not far away, Jill gives up on shaking out the water from her boots, and moves to sit on a log, hands going up to pick at her hair. Apparently, tying her hair up didn’t actually work, because it’s a sodden tangle of dark hair and clinging mud and other, less savory things.

“Need a hand with that?” Chris offers. At Jill’s nod-shrug, he heads over to sit on the log behind her, and starts detangling her hair, beginning at the ends. Having a younger sister who’s as active and headstrong as Claire means he’s pretty familiar with untangling long hair, but the slime from the sewers makes things tricky, so he combs through Jill’s hair as gently as he can, trying not to think to hard on what exactly his fingers are touching.

Wesker’s shadow falling over them makes him startle, and his fingers catch in a tangle.

“Ow,” Jill says mildly, turning to raise an eyebrow at Chris.

“Sorry,” Chris replies, patting her on the shoulder before tilting his head up to squint at Wesker. “What’s up, captain?”

The last vestiges of sunlight casts everything in shadow, ironically enough, and makes it hard to discern Wesker’s expression, but there’s a teasing lilt to his voice as he says, “Sorry to interrupt your hair-braiding session, but we should move further into the woods to set up camp before it gets too dark. There should be a cabin a couple hundred yards to the east.”

They hasten to pick their belongings back up and pull their gross, wet clothes back on. Chris makes a face as he zips up his wet pants, and considers his flak vest for a long moment before deciding safety is more important than smell (and _boy_ , is there smell). Across from him, Jill pulls the wet cloth of her shirt away from her stomach, and winces.

“God I hope the cabin isn’t too far off,” she mutters. Chris nods whole-heartedly, and tries not to breathe in too deeply as he fits his flak vest into place.

There’s the barest hint of a sigh from Wesker before he sets off, and they hasten to catch up after him.

The cabin turns out to be pretty far into the woods, way more than the “couple hundred yards” Wesker had promised, and by the time they get there, they’re relying on Chris’ flashlight to point the way through the darkness. Chris walks on ahead, Wesker and Jill close behind him, with Wesker giving murmured instructions to turn right at this tree, and then slightly left around a boulder. How Wesker keeps his bearings in the dark – and with _sunglasses_ on – occupies Chris’ thoughts more than the search for the cabin.

He continues leading the way, letting his flashlight swing steadily back and forth over the path ahead. At one point, it flashes past an old, dilapidated shack, more a pile of wooden planks than anything, and he’s about to go on past it when Wesker’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“Here.”

“Wait, really?”

Chris turns his flashlight on the cabin, and looks between it and the captain incredulously. The wooden walls of the cabin are discolored and worn down in the bleak glare of his flashlight, and the roof looks like it’s about to either slide right off, or cave in, or both.

“Well,” Chris says blankly from where he’s stopped a few meters away from the door. Wesker and Jill ignore him to continue on forward, towards the death trap like they’re not in any way concerned with, oh, how the entire thing’s gonna collapse and probably kill them.

“Seriously? Guys?” Chris mutters, even as he picks his pace up to catch up with them. “I think our chances were better at the lakeside, honestly.”

Wesker shoulders the door open carefully, and Jill enters first, knife at the ready.

“Clear!” She calls out behind her, and they enter warily after her.

Inside, the cabin actually looks to be in somewhat better shape than the outside had promised. For one, the floor is actually intact, and somehow, miraculously, there’s a bare light bulb affixed to the cobwebby ceiling that flickers, but actually starts up with a weak hum. Chris looks around at the cabin, illuminated dimly by the swinging light bulb. There’s a chair with three legs resting in the corner, next to a rusty stove that looks and smells like it hasn’t been used in decades. When Chris goes to pull it open, there are remnants of a long-abandoned nest in there, and he makes a face at the wave of musty animal smell that wafts out. Across the room, there’s a single bedframe, no mattress, just a wood-and-wire frame with canned food stacked at its foot. Other than that, the cabin is completely empty except for dust, animal droppings, and a pile of dubious looking rags on the other side of the stove.

“Chris, secure the perimeter. Jill and I will set up camp here.” Wesker drops his pack onto the floor, where it lands with a thump, and goes over to where Chris is hovering over the stove. He nudges Chris towards the entrance pointedly with a nudge to Chris’ shoulder, and bends down to start clearing the nest out.

Chris obediently heads out, leaving his flak vest (because seriously, _smell_ ) but bringing his backpack along, just in case. The woods here are densely populated with underbrush and animals, no sign of any human activity anywhere. The makeshift sling he makes out of some extra cloth and the pebbles he finds on the floor nets him two rabbits and some kind of mouse…rat…thing slightly larger than the rabbits, with an odd little stripe down its back. With his trophies hanging from his backpack and his knife in hand, he heads back towards the cabin, flashlight skipping over the trees he’d mapped out in his head.

It turns out that he got slightly turned around, either on the way out, or on the way back, because he ends up entering the clearing of the cabin from a different direction. On the bright side, it turns out that there’s a stream that curves past the cabin, not 15 meters away.

“I brought back food!” Chris re-enters the cabin, holding his trophies aloft.

“Good job,” Wesker says, voice heavy with approval as he takes the dead animals from Chris. “Make sure the meat doesn’t burn.” He points over to the stove, which is now lit and giving off warm, if kinda funky smelling, heat and light, and heads out, presumably to skin the animals for cooking.

“There’s a stream around the back of the cabin, about 15 meters out,” Chris calls out after Wesker, tucking his captain’s approval away into his memory. He heads further into the cabin, and checks on the aluminum camping pot that’s clearly Wesker’s, going by the lack of dents or scratches in it. There’s some kind of potted meat and beans frying together in an unappetizing looking lump in the pot, and he pokes at it with the spoon dubiously.

“Did you say stream?” Jill’s voice pipes up. Chris gives the meat-bean lump one last stir before he goes over to where she’s balanced on the three-legged chair and giving their weapons a proper cleaning with a rag from the suspicious pile he saw earlier.

“Yep.” Chris takes his pistol from the uncleaned pile and tears off a section of rag to start cleaning, catching the bottle of gun oil that Jill tosses his way easily. “Man, I could really go for a nice hot shower right now.”

“Mm, I want a bubble bath…” Jill sighs dreamily, even as her hands continue to work with practiced ease over the barrel of her sniper rifle.

“Jacuzzi,” Chris offers.

Jill snorts. “I’ve seen your bathroom, Redfield. Jacuzzi. Psh.”

Chris sits up, startled. “Wait, I thought we were talking hypotheticals! You have a _bathtub?_ ”

Done with the sniper rifle, Jill places it carefully together with the other cleaned guns, and picks up another one, deliberately not looking at Chris or answering his question.

“How’s the food going?” Wesker ducks into the cabin, skinned meat on stick-skewers in his hands.

“Captain! Jill has a _bathtub_!” Chris says indignantly.

“And?” Wesker turns the blank gaze of his sunglasses to Chris. “I have one too.”

Chris splutters, pointing his oily rag at first Jill, then the captain. “All this while we’ve been doing post-mission cleanups at my place when you guys have _bathtubs_?!”

“Your place is nearest to headquarters,” Wesker points out rationally, but there’s the tiniest little amused line at the left corner of his mouth as he goes over to the stove, which makes Chris even more outraged.

Jill shrugs. “Also, I didn’t really want our muddy boots getting all over my carpets.”

“ _Carpets_!” Chris gasps, outraged.

“Sorry?” Jill says, completely unapologetically.

Chris slumps back against the wall of the cabin – not too hard, because with his luck, he’d make the entire thing crash down on them or something. “I hate you guys,” he mumbles half-heartedly.

“Can you go get some water from the stream?” Wesker asks, and Chris sighs, but heaves himself to his feet obediently.

“Jill, I’m taking your pot,” he says, and ignores her laughter to head out grumpily.

He gets water for the food, which looks like it’s going to be some kind of meaty stew thing, and then goes out to get some more to heat up over the stove while they eat. The food actually turns out to be not bad, mostly, Chris thinks smugly, because of the rabbit and what Wesker says is maybe a groundhog. Well, the beans are a little mushy, and the potted meat tastes a little funky, but everything’s edible, and nobody has had to run out and poop yet, so.

After dinner, they head down to the stream together, carrying the dirty pot and utensils. Wesker starts cleaning the pot, while Chris and Jill strip off and wash their odorous clothing with relief. There’s no soap, but the water in the stream is clean, and a few rounds of wringing and hand scrubbing is enough to take out most of the smell. However, when Chris goes to take his boots off so he can wash his socks, Jill stops him.

“Save your socks for the last, those things are _foul_.” She wrinkles her nose pointedly.

“So are yours!” Chris squawks indignantly.

“Which is why I’m leaving them for the last,” Jill says, rolling her eyes as she punches him in the arm none too gently. “Nice underwear, by the way. What happened to the holey pair?”

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” Chris replies with all the dignity he can muster.

To his horror, Wesker joins the conversation. “The white ones he’s always wearing?”

“Yeah, those!” Jill giggles, the sound unexpected and lilting in the quiet hush of the night.

“ _Guys_!” Chris whines, feeling himself turn horribly red. At least the moonlight isn’t strong enough that they’d see his blush. He hopes.

“Okay, go bring the pot and spoons back in, I’m going to wash my shirt,” Wesker relents, and beckons Chris over.

Chris gratefully takes the pot and escapes into the cabin, ignoring the peal of Jill’s laughter behind him. The cabin is warm, which is nice, because standing around wearing only his underwear and boots is kinda cold in the chill of the night air, and he squats down next to the stove to warm his hands, careful not to touch the hot metal. The pot of hot clean water is still bubbling on it, and he wonders what Wesker plans to use it for.

Poking his head out of the cabin, he calls over to the other two, “What d’you want me to do with the hot water?”

When neither of them seem to have heard, he goes out to join them. Wesker, now also stripped down to his underwear, is scrubbing at his socks while Jill is immersed knee deep into the stream, shivering as she scoops up handfuls of icy water to scrub at her body.

“Chris. Go wash yourself, you can leave your socks here.” Wesker, somehow managing to look dignified in his _underwear_ , jerks his chin over to where Jill is.

Chris salutes sloppily, grinning when Wesker’s eyebrow twitches irritably at the sloppiness, and goes over to join Jill, pausing only to undo his laces and take his boots and socks off. The smell is _terrible_ , all sewer and foot-sweat, and he’s suddenly very glad Jill made him wait till they were done washing everything else.

Taking a deep breath, he strides forward into the water, only to freeze as the cold hits. He clenches his teeth tightly together to keep in any embarrassing sounds, but then he’s hit by a splash of _fucking freezing water_ and a high pitched shriek comes out from behind his teeth before he can stop it.

Laughing from behind her own chattering teeth, Jill splashes him again, only to shriek and run further down the stream when he charges after her, bent on revenge.

“Children.” Wesker’s voice, suspiciously level, eventually interrupts them, but not before Chris has dunked Jill thoroughly, and gotten himself dunked rather less thoroughly. They turn to him, grinning despite the icy water streaking over their bodies and the full-body shivers. Wesker sighs, and holds up a wet bundle. “Your socks,” he says, very drily.

Jill steps out of the stream, kicking one last splash of water at Chris, and takes the socks. “Thanks, captain. Go wash up, I’ll bring these back to dry,” she says, before heading back towards the cabin. Her wet underwear clings, and Chris flushes, averts his eyes studiously.

“You’ve got mud streaked on your back,” Wesker’s voice jerks Chris out of his study of the woods to the left.

“Oh!” Chris bends, one hand going back to try and grope the location of the mud out.

Wesker watches him twist futilely for a few moments, before approaching, stepping into the frigid water with no hesitation like he’s impervious to icy temperatures or something. “Here, let me.”

His hands, usually cold, are warm compared to the chilly water, and Chris has to resist the urge to squirm beneath Wesker’s hands and shaded gaze.

“Done.” Wesker moves to stand in front of Chris, sunglasses inscrutable in the darkness.

“Thanks, Wesker.” Chris is saved from having to think of something to say when a new round of shivers racks through his body, making his teeth chatter.

The corner of Wesker’s mouth tilts ever so slightly upwards. “Go back to the cabin, Chris…Ah, hold on.”

Chris turns back at the touch of Wesker’s hand against his bare shoulder. Wesker rubs at the line where Chris’ neck joins his shoulder, hand firm and warm against Chris’ chilled skin.

“There, all gone.” Wesker’s voice is the faintest shade warmer than usual, and Chris ducks his head, more glad than ever for the grey moonlight that drains color from his flush.

“Thanks,” Chris says, before stepping back out of the warmth that radiates from Wesker’s body, and turning to head back into the cabin.

He doesn’t know if it’s his imagination, but he thinks he feels Wesker’s gaze on his back all the way till he rounds the corner.

Inside the thankfully warm cabin, Jill, still in her underwear, is bent over the stove checking on the pot of water there.

“Oh, Chris! Can you get another pot of water? I want to rinse my hair out properly, but I’m not sure what Wesker needed this water for.” Jill nudges the clean pot over.

“Yeah, sure,” Chris says, grabbing the pot and heading back out, studiously keeping his gaze focused on the pot in his hands and not the sight of Wesker washing himself further down the stream. As he fills the pot, he wonders if it would be appropriate to ask if he can dry his underwear while sleeping. His wet briefs are cold, and he hates the feeling of wet cloth on his skin. If it were just him, he would’ve stripped them off immediately, but as it is, he doesn’t really fancy facing his captain and teammate with…shrinkage issues.

Yeah, wet underwear definitely sounds preferable.

Just as he’s thinking that, he catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and his gaze involuntarily flickers over, just in time to catch Wesker stripping his fancy looking boxer briefs off to reveal…

Yeah, yep, okay, _definitely_ keeping the wet underwear on.

Jesus, sometimes the captain’s entire _existence_ is so unfair.

Chris stumbles back to the cabin under the weight of the pot (and his sinful thoughts), trying to keep his mind on important things, like how they’re going to make their way out tomorrow morning, or how they’re going to have so much paperwork to do on the cult and the underground base they’d cleared out.

Inside, Jill is sitting on the floor, watching the fire in the stove crackle. Chris puts his pot on it to heat up, and sits down next to her. When she sighs and tilts over to the left to lean her head against his shoulder, he raises his arm and puts it around her, appreciating the warmth and softness of her skin, and rather less appreciative of the cold dampness of her bra pressing against his side. Still, he’s a gentleman, so he doesn’t say anything.

They sit there, soaking in the warmth of the fire and each other’s bodies, and it’s kind of nice, even with the whole wet underwear thing and the way Chris can kinda still smell sewer in Jill’s hair. When Wesker comes back in, stark naked except for his sunglasses and wringing out his underwear, he gives them a Look before leaving his underwear to dry with the rest of the clothes, and going to sit on Chris’ other side, also facing the stove’s fire.

His skin, where his bare thigh brushes against Chris’ knee and his arm against Chris’ shoulder, is cool from the river.

It’s warm like this, with the fire and three bodies in a tiny space, and Chris relaxes, even the clammy underwear situation not really dimming his mood.

“Jill. The hot water’s for your hair, by the way,” Wesker’s voice is a low murmur to Chris’ left.

“Oh! I got another pot of water, because I thought you were going to use it for something else.” Jill sits up, and turns to face them. “Thanks, captain.”

“Mm.”

Chris retracts his arm from around her shoulders, watches her get up and pull one of the pots off the stove. “Need a hand?”

“Yes _please_ ,” Jill says, bringing the pot over in front of him. Chris obligingly crosses his legs in tighter to make space, which has the added effect of bringing his knee into closer contact with Wesker’s leg. “Not sure how I’m gonna do this though, maybe if I bend over and dunk my head in you can help me scrub?”

“If you lean over Chris’ legs, I can wash your hair for you,” Wesker offers.

Which is how Chris ends up with Jill’s elbows digging into his left thigh and her breasts pressed against his right, as she lies across his thighs, head hanging off the side while next to them, Wesker carefully combs through Jill’s hair over the pot. Chris lets his right hand play with the strap of Jill’s bra, even as his left hand holds a cup to pour the warm water under Wesker’s murmured directions.

Jill, for her part, seems to be enjoying the pampering. She turns her head, nearly getting water into her ear, and grins up at Chris and Wesker.

“This is _nice_ , getting the fancy spa treatment from you guys like this. Barry’ll never believe me when I tell him about it.” She wriggles into a more comfortable position, and Chris tries desperately to keep his mind off the way her breasts feel against his leg.

“Oh god, don’t tell him, he’ll get jealous and make us wash his hair too,” Chris mutters half-heartedly.

“Maybe we should charge a fee,” Wesker says, his voice low and amused. His hands are sure and steady as they wipe sludges of sewer slime out of Jill’s hair.

Chris is too busy watching the way Wesker’s fingers move through Jill’s dark hair, long and pale and elegant in a way that makes him think of piano keys, or maybe spiders, to respond.

“I get it free though, right? Because I’m your first customer and everything.” Jill digs one of her elbows into Chris’ thigh, jolting him out of his contemplation of the Wesker’s hands pale against Jill’s hair.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, definitely. You’re paying next round though,” Chris pokes her on the shoulder with the hand that was playing with her bra. “No mooching allowed.”

“Says the one who’s been mooching lunch off me every week,” Jill snorts, and pokes Chris back, right where he’s _really_ ticklish, on the side of his hip.

Yelping, Chris jerks, nearly tossing Jill off his lap and overturning the pot next to his leg. Jill bursts out laughing, the laughter shaking through her body and jostling Chris’ legs. Beside them, Wesker leans back to watch, long pale lines of his body looking as relaxed as Chris has ever seen him.

Or maybe that’s because he’s literally naked, but well.

“Hah, funny!” Chris scowls down at her. “You’re definitely not getting free spa treatment anymore, Valentine.”

Still laughing, Jill rolls over onto her back, and grins up at him, familiar blue eyes crinkling up at the corners. Scowling even harder, Chris jabs her in the toned muscles of her stomach, but it only makes her giggle.

Jill settles her hands on her stomach, over Chris’ hand, her fingers interlinked and pressing down on his, and hums contemplatively. “Do you have any plans for how we’re gonna contact HQ tomorrow, captain?” She tilts her head back so she can look at Wesker.

Wesker sits up, and pulls the pot closer to Chris’ thigh so he can continue cleaning Jill’s hair. “If we keep going east, we should hit a small town in two to three hours. We can call for a pick up there.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Chris says, watching Wesker work.

“Mm.”

Wesker continues to gently work the sludgey slime out of Jill’s hair, and Chris watches, almost hypnotized. He’s not the only one, because Jill is practically half asleep in his lap. There’s the faintest little wrinkle between her eyebrows that he never realized existed until it was gone, probably relaxed away by the warmth of the cabin and Wesker’s hands carding carefully through her hair.

Lost in the rhythmic movements of Wesker’s hands, it takes Chris a while to realize that Jill’s hair is clean, has been clean for a while now, and that Jill herself is fast asleep, eyes closed and lips a little parted, despite how uncomfortable it must be to lie half off Chris’ lap. He continues to watch the way Wesker’s hands move through her hair, and when he brings his gaze up, Wesker is watching him. At least, Chris _thinks_ he is; it’s hard to tell with the shades, but he can feel the familiar weight of Wesker’s consideration.

The crackle of the fire is loud in the muted silence of the cabin, and the heat of it after the exhausting day makes everything feel kind of hazy with potential.

Lulled into the moment, Chris lets his eyes track across Wesker’s face and shoulders, and notes idly that the firelight is flattering on his captain’s pale skin, the flickering warmth making him look less like an untouchable marble statue, and more…human. Inviting, almost. He notices vaguely, out of the corner of his eye, that Wesker’s hands have slowed their path through Jill’s hair. When he looks back down, Wesker’s hands have stopped fully, moved to cradle Jill’s head tenderly, almost possessively.

“See something interesting, Redfield?” Wesker’s voice is low and faintly amused.

“Hm?” Chris looks back up, dragging his gaze past pale skin to Wesker’s face, only to be stopped by the blankness of the sunglasses and his own reflection in them. Before he can stop himself, the question slips out. “Do you ever take those off?”

Wesker’s eyebrows go up at that, and Chris freezes, realizing that he’s let himself relax too much. They are, after all, technically still on a mission.

“Sorry, you don’t have to answer that, please ignore that—” Chris waves the hand not trapped under Jill’s hands, and looks around for something to change the topic with.

“No, it’s quite okay.”

Chris watches avidly as Wesker reaches a hand up, hesitates for the barest second, and takes his sunglasses off and folds them carefully, setting them to the side. His face is averted, leaving his eyes shadowed, but somehow, he looks strangely naked, the elegant line of his profile bare to the flickering firelight.

Which is an odd thought to have about someone who’s been effectively naked for the past hour or so, but.

Wesker goes back to playing with the wet strands of Jill’s hair silently, and Chris realizes he should probably say something, anything.

“I never knew you had blue eyes” is what comes out, despite his best efforts at trying to come up with something intelligent.

Wesker flicks his gaze up, makes fleeting eye contact with Chris before going back to staring down at his hands in Jill’s hair – his eyes are blue, almost as pale as Jill’s, and surprisingly vulnerable looking.

“You and Jill should go to sleep,” Wesker says finally, still not looking up. “I’ll take first watch.”

Chris nods agreeably, reaching down to gently nudge Jill awake. She mumbles something incoherently, but moves as directed, squeezing out the water from her hair and rubbing it somewhat dry with one of the cleaner rags. The bedframe doesn’t look in any way comfortable, so they end up curled against each other next to the stove, Chris at Jill’s back and bunched up rags beneath their heads. Wesker settles down next to the doorway, close enough that Chris can hear his quiet breaths, and watch him over Jill’s shoulder.

The last thing Chris sees before Jill’s rhythmic breathing beneath his arm tugs him into sleep is Wesker replacing the sunglasses back onto his face, the profile of his face going from looking strangely fine and vulnerable back to familiar, comforting, blank professionalism.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ THAT ANON FROM THE PREV CHAPTER. I HOPE UR HAPPY. ps what kinda kingdoms are we talking about here.
> 
> pps, unbeta-ed and finished at 1am, lmk if u find typos or shit  
> ppps lmk if i should be tagging anything. are u supposed to tag for sex acts and shit??? lord i hope not

Chris barely remembers being shaken awake in the middle of the night to take second shift on watch, and he definitely doesn’t remember waking Jill up to take the last shift before going back to bed, but he must have, because nothing else would explain the way he’s curled up against his captain’s back, with Jill grinning over them.

“Morning, sunshines,” she says cheerfully. “I’d say rise and shine, but it looks like you’ve already taken care of that rise part.”

Chris blinks up at her blearily, not quite fully awake enough to comprehend what she’s saying. God, middle shifts are the _worst_ , because it never feels like he actually gets any rest.

Above him, Jill rolls her eyes, and nudges him with a bare foot to his ribs.

“Wake up, Chris, I’m sure the captain’s tired of your boner sticking into his back.”

At that, Chris is jolted fully and completely awake, and he lunges upright, scowling.

“I’m not-!” He glances down.

Okay, maybe not.

“Shit.”

Beside him, Wesker stirs, and rolls over onto his back, looking over at Chris’ lap. “So that’s what that was,” he says. “I did wonder.”

“Oh my god,” Chris mumbles, covering his face in embarrassment. At least he still has his underwear on.

…Unlike Jill, who at some point during her watch has apparently stripped her bra off, for some reason.

“Uh, Jill?” Chris gestures vaguely in her chestal direction, not really daring to look too closely. “I think your bra disappeared at some point.”

“Oh, yeah, I took it off to let it dry.” Jill plops down to sit in front of Chris, which is the exact opposite of what Chris intended.

“I think Chris is embarrassed about your current state of nudity because of _his_ current state,” Wesker points out helpfully.

“Thanks, captain,” Chris mutters.

Jill makes an incredulous sound. “It’s not my fault you have morning wood! If anything, you were all pressed up to the captain, he probably has more to do with it.”

“I’m flattered, really,” Wesker murmurs. When Chris looks over, embarrassed and trying to come up with a defense for himself, he realizes that the corner of Wesker’s thin mouth is twitching.

“Hah. Funny, guys, make fun of a natural phenomenon.” Chris scowls down at his erection, trying to make it go down through sheer willpower. “I’m going to the stream to wash up,” he says, when it’s clear that his erection is winning the battle of willpower. He stands up, preparing himself to go plunge into the icy river.

“Aw, come on, Redfield, we were just kidding!” Jill leans back on her hands, grinning and completely unselfconscious.

“You don’t have to go all the way out there to take care of it,” Wesker adds, sitting up as well.

“Yeah, we can even turn around and cover our ears if that makes you feel better.”

Chris snorts, and heads towards the door. “Yeah, like I’m gonna jerk off in front of you guys. I know how you’re both terrible micromanaging jerks.”

It’s a tempting prospect though, mostly because he’s only about four meters away from the stove, and already he can feel the chill of the morning air from outside, even though the door’s not even open yet.

“Look, let’s just lift our policy on no sex at work, okay? This barely even counts, come on captain, look at poor Chris all ready to plunge himself into the freezing water.”

Chris turns back, just in time to see Jill sitting up and gesturing at him. When Wesker turns to look, Chris tries his best not to let his hope shine _too_ much on his face.

“Oh alright, fine.” Wesker rubs at the bridge of his nose, but Chris is too busy bounding back towards the stove’s circle of warmth.

“Oh thank god,” he says, flinging himself next to the captain and slinging one arm around his shoulders. “Thanks, captain. I didn’t actually want to freeze my balls off. That wouldn’t be fun.”

Wesker shrugs Chris’ arm off, but he’s got a faint, tolerant smile on his face. “We still have to head back out soon,” he warns. “Don’t take too long.”

Jill pauses in where she’d been moving to straddle Chris. “You’re not joining us?”

Chris lets Jill do the talking, too busy running his hands up and down Jill’s bare sides. He never gets over how _soft_ her skin is, the way the few scars peppered over her ribs only make everything else feel softer. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, to be honest. Jill’s hands come up to run through his hair, and he presses a kiss to her shoulder, then her collarbone, and then the long line of her neck.

Beside them, he hears Wesker sighing faintly, before there’s the sound of naked flesh shifting, and then Wesker’s body is behind Jill’s, and Wesker’s hand is pulling Chris away from Jill’s neck to pull him into a kiss. Chris grins into the kiss, can’t help it, giddy with joy that this shitshow of a mission is actually turning out pretty fucking great.

Wesker pulls away with a warning nip to Chris’ mouth, and turns his attention to Jill’s underwear, long fingers going to trace at the edge and a frown on his face. “You should’ve just let them dry last night,” he says. “This isn’t good for the material.”

Chris lets his hands wander down Jill’s chest, skates right past her breasts to join Wesker’s hands at Jill’s underwear, even as his mouth moves to press against her jaw. He isn’t too interested in the proper way to take care of clothing, so he tunes out Jill and Wesker’s gentle bickering, and moves to slip one hand into Jill’s panties, pushing the fabric aside so he can press his palm against her. His other hand goes to play with one of her breasts, the full weight of it in contrast to the catch of her hard nipple against his fingers making for a delightful handful of sensations.

Wesker’s hands, back to their normal chilly state, slip out of Jill’s panties, and go around her torso, tugging her gently away from Chris’ wandering hands and mouth.

“Hm?” Chris mumbles in confusion, lifting his head.

“You’re both still wearing underwear,” Wesker points out. “Underwear that hasn’t properly dried. I would suggest taking them off before we continue.”

Oh. Right.

There’s a bit of a scramble as Jill and Chris both move to strip their underwear off. Eventually, they’re all naked, underwear tossed off to dry by the stove’s fire, with Jill leaning back against Wesker’s chest while Chris sits facing them, unable to keep his eyes off the pretty picture in front of him. Its ridiculous how hot both the captain and Jill are separately, let alone together. Jill’s body, all warm muscle and curves, is framed by Wesker’s broad shoulders and longer legs, and Chris wants nothing more than to touch, with his hands his mouth his anything.

“C’mon captain, let’s put on a show for him,” Jill winks at Chris before tilting her head so she can kiss Wesker. Wesker obligingly does so, and Chris can only watch hungrily as they kiss, tongues sliding against each other familiarly. Wesker’s hands wander down Jill’s torso, one sliding across to cup a breast, while the other goes to rub tenderly at the junction between her thigh and hip. Jill leans back against Wesker’s body, sighing against his cheek as Wesker’s hand slides close to, but not touching where she clearly wants him to touch, plays with the neat curls of her dark pubic hair, slips slightly further down only to pull back, teasing.

Unable to take it anymore, Chris leans forward, asking silently for permission. He knows Wesker is watching him, can _feel_ the way his captain’s staring hungrily at him like a physical thing, while all the while his hands continue to tease Jill, who seems happy enough to mouth at the sharp line of Wesker’s jaw as she squirms.

“C’monnnn,” Chris thinks, but he knows better than to say anything, so he just kneels there, letting his fully hard erection do the talking for him. Sort of.

“Oh alright.” Wesker relents, and beckons Chris forward. “Come here, Chris.”

Chris scrambles forward, closes the gap, and kisses first Wesker, then Jill, going to brush his hands against Wesker’s arms.

“Come on, enough playing,” Jill orders, a bit breathless, and when Chris looks down he realizes that Wesker has moved to slip one long finger into the folds of her pussy, probably circling around her clit, going by the way she’s shuddering and pressing back against Wesker. Wesker pulls his finger away, and lifts it to Chris’ mouth.

Eagerly, Chris leans forwards, and takes Wesker’s finger into his mouth, tasting Jill’s familiar taste and groaning because he wants _more_.

“Go on then,” Wesker says, and pulls his finger back, sliding it down Chris’ chin to leave a warm trail of cooling split. The last thing Chris sees as he wriggles his way down is Wesker tilting Jill’s chin so he can kiss her, teeth biting gently at her lower lip.

Then Chris sets down to business, pushing Jill’s legs further apart so he can get comfortable. She moves easily, hooking her legs over Wesker’s, and opening herself up for him.

“Chris, c’mon, please,” she murmurs, and one of her hands goes to tangle in Chris’ short hair, roughly, just the way he likes it.

Obligingly, he leans forward, presses a kiss above her pubic hair before going to flick his tongue along the outside of her pussy, teasing just like Wesker did, until she takes an even firmer grip on his hair, and pulls him to press his tongue against her clit. Laughing silently, Chris obeys, moves to alternate between fluttering his tongue against it and sucking gently. Something cool and elegant brushes against his cheek, surprising him, and he jerks back for a second before he realizes it’s Wesker’s fingers, moving to slide into Jill, two at one go.

At that, Jill cries out, the sound sharp in the silence of the cabin and their heavy breathing, and she arches up into Chris’ mouth, pressing him down insistently. Chris keeps going, letting his hands rub comfortingly up and down her thighs while he tongues at her clit, Wesker’s hand brushing against his chin once in a while as his fingers slide into Jill. At this angle, there’s no way Wesker’s able to hit that spot inside of her, so Chris does his best to make up for it by giving her clit extra attention, and it isn’t long before she’s shuddering and clenching down on Wesker’s fingers, jerking against Chris’ mouth as she comes, silent in the moment as usual.

Chris glances up, and at Wesker’s nod, keeps going, slipping one hand up to join Wesker’s so Jill has three fingers to clench around as she comes again, which she does soon, the second orgasm riding along the wave of the first. He follows Wesker’s cue, slows his fingers and the movement of his tongue along with Wesker, until finally Jill pulls him off and grabs him by the face to pull him up into a kneeling position so she can kiss him, sloppy and breathless.

“Mm, okay now, who wants to go next?” Jill pulls away finally to ask, her face flushed beneath her dark hair and her eyes lidded with pleasure. Chris bends in for one more kiss, just to taste the way she smiles against his mouth.

Wesker hooks his chin over Jill’s shoulder, shaded gaze on Chris, but stays otherwise silent as he strokes at Jill’s stomach absently. Chris picks up one of Wesker’s hands, and kisses the palm of it, not missing the way Wesker’s fingers twitch against his cheek.

“We’re all yours, captain,” he says, glancing down at Jill to confirm. At her nod, he looks back up at Wesker, and flicks his tongue out at the web of Wesker’s fingers playfully.

At that, Wesker actually nearly smiles, his lips quirking. “I’ve seen how impatient you can get,” he says mildly, but he catches the side of Chris’ face with the hand Chris is holding, pulls him into a kiss, licking at the remnants of Jill’s taste on him.

“Let’s take care of you before you come while humping one of our legs or something,” Wesker murmurs into Chris’ mouth, laughter suppressed in the line of his lips.

Scowling, Chris pulls away. “Okay, when will you guys stop harping on that? It was _ages_ ago!”

Jill shrugs, moving with the fluidness of post-orgasm bliss. “Until you stop responding to it, probably,” she says, grinning up at him even as her hands move to run along Chris’ thighs, circling closer until she’s taking him in hand, giving him one firm stroke.

Chris wants to keep the argument going, but Jill’s hand on his cock is…distracting, to say the least. He thumps his forehead against her shoulder and groans, ignoring the way Wesker presses a smiling kiss to the crown of his head.

“Nobody brought condoms, right?” Jill asks, and at both their headshakes, she sighs. “That limits our options a bit.”

“Mm. Maybe if Chris…” Wesker trails off, and uses his hands instead, rearranging them until Chris is straddling him, with Jill moved to curl around Chris’ back, chin hooked over his shoulder and delightfully soft breasts pressing against him as she reaches around to take them both in hand.

Chris can’t help but jerk into her grip, breathlessly watching the way his dick slides against Wesker’s to peek out of the circle of Jill’s hands. There’s something exhilarating about knowing what Jill’s hands look like as they dismantle weapons and pick locks, and then watching the way they twist cleverly around his and Wesker’s dicks. Wesker seems pretty enamored of the sight as well, going by the way he’s lifted himself up onto his elbows so he can watch, lips just barely parted.

Experimentally, Chris plants his hands down on either side of Wesker’s chest, and grinds down, moving his hips against Wesker, pressing his ass down against Wesker’s dick. At that, Wesker gasps, actually full on gasps, and collapses back to lie against the floor, hands going up to grab at Chris’ hips.

“Chris…” Wesker says, voice thick with restraint.

“Oh, well done, Chris,” Jill says, delighted surprise coloring her voice. She moves her hands up, lets Chris take control of the movement of his hips, and focuses instead on playing with his nipples as she bites none too gently at his neck and shoulders. “I think we found something else the captain likes.”

Laughing breathlessly, Chris nods, and continues to grind down on Wesker’s dick, losing himself between the sensations of Jill’s mouth on his neck, her skillful hands on his chest, and the feel of Wesker tense beneath him, his hands tight enough on Chris’ hips that he’ll probably have bruises there tomorrow.

His thrusts get more uncoordinated as he comes closer and closer to orgasm, until he’s jerking against Wesker and gasping as he comes, gracelessly and embarrassingly loud compared to the silence of Jill and Wesker. He doesn’t know when, but at some point, he collapses against Wesker, pressing his face into his captain’s neck as behind him, Jill strokes comfortingly down his back while Wesker’s hands are firm and reassuring on his hips.

Eventually, he gathers himself enough to sit up and flop to the side, still panting, but coherent enough to fling an arm across Wesker’s chest, to keep grounding skin contact.

“I forgot how clingy he gets after orgasm,” Wesker says, dry tone at odds with the way his own breathing is harsh, and his hand comes up to stroke Chris’ arm gently.

“I like it,” Jill comments from the other side of Wesker, tangling her fingers with Chris’. “It’s nice to cuddle, after.”

“Mm.”

“Think he’s out of commission for a while though.” Jill presses a kiss to Chris’ knuckles, and moves to curl against Wesker’s side. “What about you? What d’you want, captain?”

“You pick.”

Jill considers it for a moment, then turns to Chris. “Any ideas?”

Somewhat more coherent now, Chris props his chin up on Wesker’s chest, and looks between his captain and Jill.

“I can go down on him while you ride his face?” He offers.

“Sounds good to me,” Jill says, breath hitching. Chris smirks at that. He knows how much Jill has a thing for the way Wesker’s sunglasses press against her thighs when she rides his face.

“Come on up, Valentine.” Wesker lets go of Chris’ arm, and beckons Jill over, licking his lips in preparation.

Grinning, Jill swings one leg over so that she’s kneeling over Wesker, and lowers herself. Chris watches them for a while, fascinated by the way Jill’s back moves as she grinds down on Wesker, and the way Wesker’s hands are running up and down her sides, possessive and careful all at once. Jill laughs once, breathlessly, and turns back to look at Chris over her shoulder.

“I think the captain’s getting impatient. Time to get to work, Chris.”

Snickering, Chris wriggles himself further down, until he can splay himself over Wesker’s legs into a comfortable position where he can suck the captain off. Wesker’s dick is a familiar shape in his hands, and against his tongue, and Chris hums, settling down to work while above him there are the wet sounds and gasps of Jill finding her way to another orgasm.

It doesn’t take long for Wesker to stiffen up and come into Chris’ mouth, one hand letting go of Jill’s waist to go press into Chris’ hair. Chris lets Wesker’s softening dick fall out of his mouth, stroking it gently until Wesker taps against his shoulder, and then he lets go and crawls up alongside them.

“Kiss me,” Jill demands, as soon as he comes within her sight. Obligingly, he hooks an arm around her back and lets her lean back against him as he kisses her, shares the taste of their captain with her until she’s shuddering and stiffening up in his arms before relaxing bonelessly.

He helps her off, only to promptly collapse between her and Wesker, feeling the delicious lethargy that comes with orgasm wash through him. Beside him, Jill stretches against the floor, breasts moving in a way that’s very eye catching. Chris summons up the energy to sit up and press one last kiss to her chest, right between her breasts, before collapsing back to his original position.

Next to him, Wesker laughs, and turns so he can face them, one hand reaching over Chris to trace a line down Jill’s body, from her neck to her pussy. Then he bends down and kisses Chris, a brush of lips against Chris’ own, before pulling back.

“Come on now, we should get going.”

Chris groans, echoed on his other side by Jill.

“C’mon, captain. Five more minutes?”

“Mm. Alright, but only if you clean up the mess you made on my chest.” Wesker slides one fastidious finger down Chris’ come as he makes a displeased face.

“Does this mean I’ll have to go down to the stream to get more water?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, up and at ‘em, Jill!” Chris struggles to his feet, and goes to hunt down his underwear, Wesker and Jill’s laughter ringing out behind him.

**Author's Note:**

> the real christmas miracle is how chris didnt get a boner throughout the entire thing tbh
> 
> ps. there was gonna be a porny alt ending but i got lazy trying 2 figure the mechanics out sry
> 
> edit: there's now a porny alt ending /jazzhands


End file.
